How many fried eggs do I have to eat to heal these broken bones?
The first important thing in making fermented cabbage is to choose a good cabbage head.
How many fried eggs do I have to eat to heal these broken bones?
I am a student in a creative writing programme, a mature student, from a professional background as an epidemiologist. Amongst ourselves, we students don’t really talk about ‘creativity’. We talk a lot about craft and sometimes we talk about ourselves and the way in which how we feel affects our writing. But rarely about ‘creativity’…
I stood under the alligator juniper that shaded my tent in the oak woods. Effie squatted between my feet. In The Maltese Falcon, Sam Spade called his receptionist Effie. But the Effie at my feet was no lady. I called her F. E. Cottontail in my journals. Cottontails are coprophagous – literally, Fecal Eating. That…
last night i carved open
a tree in the yard and
at the centre of the
trunk was a small
The trees are prettier this time of year, limp—
gowned in sweet milk stuck to our tongues.
In early October 2020, my partner Greg and I drove at sunrise to Zion National Park in southern Utah. On the way I swigged coffee and snapped photos of sandstone cliffs dip-dyed red by the sun. They dwarfed what I’d imagined while planning our pandemic-adapted vacation – a national park tour via road trip, starting…
It was the temperamental radio,
the cats with full bellies,
the hilarious stench of fuel
“You made it, Grandma!” I said as I gave her a hug. The gold tassel swished in my face from the graduation cap I hadn’t removed yet. “I’ve been to all your graduations, Iha,” she replied in a huff, “And, I’ll be at the next one.” I gripped her hand as she steadied herself with…
I try bleaching the sun
using liquid soda crystals
but the sky turns yellow too
breathe and /hold
lungs and belly
moon balloon full
The weeks that followed exploded into a patriotic frenzy. Red, white, and blue dotted every neighborhood – even our own. Old Navy’s Fourth of July T-shirts reemerged for the last few weeks of September. Dad brought home a flag – taller than me – which I demanded be hung by the front door, just like…
the slow inflections of the wind
where rivers run like scars.
The moon hangs quietly
in the blackened air, halved and emptied, decaying since dusk
Here lie abandoned gyro crusts and Bundt cake crumbs.
Your fingers shine with olive oil grease
New York is often unfairly maligned for being unfeeling, but that’s just what we call uncontrollable things, which the city is. It tumbles on, transforming a million times over the course of a decade before remaining stagnant for far too long. Occasionally, shifts rise rapidly from seismic events. I’ve seen sudden pivots in the wake…
I dreamed of teeth
cracking teeth walnut
shells my cheek
hot on your back
on the sand dunes
and the sky overhead
like a badly
scratched frying pan.
In an ideal world
the washing machine
is a portal to clean linen
dishes lean back like sun
loungers by the sink
What springs from earth dissolves to earth again, and heaven-born things fly to their native seat.Marcus Aurelius ‘It’s about a third full,’ I say, clutching the mobile phone to my ear as I hang my head into the water tank, my voice bouncing off the metal sides and echoing back at me. ‘Does the pipe…
a chant begins
a loud doleful wail
smear my body in holy oil
adorn my head with your crown of thorns
It’s not that she wasn’t happy for her sister, far from it. Nadia only wished she could hold on to her for a little longer.
My soles are gelatinous, a mixture of blood, and yoke.
my father wanted to recreate the grapes
grow his own over our tiny backyard in the suburbs just outside the city
his vision was three separate plants,
arching and twisting their vines from our neighbor’s garage to ours
I swirl my eyes inside the paint
tears forming at the edges of me
January and the New Year are often dreaded in their insistence that we look back on what we have achieved, or what we meant to. This year, the looming of March feels the same, with its marking of the anniversary of the initial lockdown. It is easy to be hard on the progress you have…
Zones one to three have become a long-distance relationship.
Underground, Hades and his sardine dead
reach their eleventh hour
I sway and I spin, I smile. Sometimes even in perfect moments, you begin to feel the cold creep in.
My mother packed eggs sunny side up,
Spam slices golden-browned to perfection
tucked into my lunchbox.
and what does it mean
that her blood still sings
through the Old Quarter
of my veins?
The angel comes unbidden
on a Thursday morning,
knocking briskly, handing me
a pineapple and thirteen coral-tinted roses.
Through photography and sculpture, I question how the manipulation of behaviour and patterns dehumanises society.
Because of the pandemic, we didn’t have any Olympics this summer, so I decided to reproduce the Olympic coverage in July by printing (screen printing) over selected pictures from the Montreal Olympics of 1976
Through countless retrievals, our memories of precious moments lose their ‘truth.’
‘As I listened to music and wrote poems, the space came alive, became my balcony garden, and gave new life to me.’
A version of this piece first appeared on Trampset In April, the reality of the pandemic fades into the background as my family deals with our own internal crisis. The house is in Kemsing, a southern English village in the Kent countryside. It is nestled on the slopes of the North Downs, a range of…
Just a spoonful satisfyingly sears on the way down, tickling all the microvilli on its magic school bus trip through the body. A taste so tangy, a flavor so fearless. Anything but diluted, the way I’d always told myself to be.
‘where reality and subconsciousness overlap and everything blends.’
We return to find
the magnolia still
bruising itself into blossom.
We physicians have never had a clearly defined mission. That mattered less when expectations were lower and we could do less. Now though, the reigning paradigm is grounded in basic science, excessively confident, inpatient-centric, and broadly focused on treatment of symptoms and signs, on diagnosis and therapy. The development of a new medical paradigm seems…
The train leans through
the Highland line, Inverness
to Fearn, wheat either side.
This carriage bows for you.
I’ve tried planting potatoes since you left,
but they never grow the way they did for you.
Lorighittas are a type of pasta made in one small village, Morgongiori, on a side of a mountain on the east of Sardinia. Only the women of this village, and only some of them, know how to make lorighittas. A lorighitta is effectively a woven pasta made from a dough of semolina and water. Each…